Not a Bass Nor a Prince
by Signe O
Summary: AU. Chuck really did lose his memory when he was shot in Prague, and the body that washed up in Paris was much more damaged. TV show-verse.
1. Prologue

**Summary:** AU. Chuck really did lose his memory when he was shot in Prague, and the body that washed up in Paris was much more damaged.

**A/N:** Welcome to my first try at _Gossip Girl_ fanfiction!

When I watched the premiere of season 4, I instantly thought _this_ would actually be the real storyline. But when it was discovered that Chuck actually did remember his life as, well, Chuck Bass, I knew I had to write this. I hope you'll enjoy this prologue!

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don't own Gossip Girl. If I did, Dair would've stayed in the adorable _platonic_ stage. (Sorry, not sorry).

* * *

Serena could feel her heart in her throat as it beat violently and fought to escape. Tears were already pressing to be let out in the open, and begging to roll down her cheeks. Right now, all she wanted was to tell Lily that she couldn't do it, and that her mother would have to do it herself. But that wasn't fair; Serena had already agreed to go, and it would be silly for her mother to travel such a long way, if there was nothing to worry about. After all, it could be a thief, who had stolen Chuck's wallet... right? The way her mother had sounded over the phone, though, made Serena not so sure.

What was she going to tell Blair? The two of them nearly got _engaged_, before Serena and Blair went off to Paris, for crying out loud. This couldn't be Chuck Bass, it just couldn't. It would _destroy_ Blair.

Putting on a brave mask as she entered the morgue, Serena found herself praying to a God she really didn't believe in. Several times before, Blair had surprised her by putting her faith in the skies - or rather, what was supposed to be beyond them - and there had to be a reason for it. No one gained Blair Waldorf's trust without a good reason.

A man showed her the belongings that had been found on the body, and Serena felt sick at the obvious bloodstain on the wallet. Everything was Chuck's; the phone, the wallet and the passport. She had seen them all at some point.

Slowly, her fear grew, and when it was time to unmask the body on the table, Serena barely had the strength to nod. Suddenly, all of her senses attacked her at once; her eyes wanted to squint against the harsh lightening, which hadn't bothered her before; her ears picked up the sound of clacking shoes down the hall; the lip she had trapped between her teeth felt soft, and when she ran her tongue over it to soothe the pain she had unintentionally caused, it tasted like salt. But the smell was the worst. The so very _sterile_ air was obviously there to create an illusion of normalcy, as if her stepbrother's dead body wasn't lying right in front of her, rotting as they spoke.

Serena swallowed, and then nodded at the man, who pulled the sheet down to Chuck's shoulders.

The only sound that came next was a sharp intake of breath.

Because Serena knew Chuck, and this was him. He looked awful, though; his entire face was bruised, and there were so many cuts that it was almost impossible to tell his nose from his mouth. Something sour rose to Serena's throat, and she fought to keep it down.

"That's him," she whispered.

And then it was real. This wasn't some sick, twisted nightmare - or even another game of Chuck's. This was _real_.

Chuck was dead.

And she had to tell everyone.

Reaching out for her phone, her fingers shook as she pressed the right buttons. Her arm felt dead when she raised her hand to her ear to press the phone against her ear. The tears had won now, and streamed down her face, while she sent the man a nod. Chuck's face was covered with the sheet, and the door was opened for her.

After the second 'beep', the door was closed behind her. Serena had never been more relieved to be outside of a room before. But even as his physical body was separated from her by a door and a massive wall, she could still see his face - and even better when she closed her eyes.

Oh, Chuck.

Blair was not the only one, who was going to miss him, Serena silently admitted to herself. Chuck was a friend... _had been_ a friend.

"What is it, Serena?" an annoyed voice greeted her. "I'm still on my date with Louis, remember? Make this quick!"

The words were stuck in her throat, and Serena wanted this moment to last forever, however masochistic that sounded, because right now, Blair had no idea. She was still happy - if somewhat annoyed - and her heart was still whole. But Serena knew that if she didn't speak up fast, she would have no second chance until tonight. "B, I need to talk to you," she managed to choke out, and was horrified to hear how her voice broke.

Damned that fucking Chuck. Making her feel horrible, even from beyond the grave.

Apparently, he had the same effect on Blair. "What's wrong, S? You're making me really nervous."

Nervous was better than devastated, Serena noted bitterly.

_It's Chuck,_ she wanted to say. _He's dead._ But Blair deserved to be informed in person. She deserved a shoulder to cry on, and two arms to be embraced with.

"Come to the hotel now," she begged into the phone, and finally took a step away from the door, which she had been leaning against. Under her, her legs shook, and the heels she was wearing was not making it any better. Without a second thought, Serena reached down to remove them, and hissed when the ice-cold floor connected to her bare feet. It was odd how something could be so cold in France - and in the middle of the summer, no less. "_Please_," she added when all thoughts of cold floors had disappeared, and left her with absolute chaos.

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end, and Serena used it to convince herself to walk down the hall, and to the door. Nothing was going to change the fact that Chuck Bass was dead. She could hang around all day, and he wouldn't spring up from the table and laugh at her for being so stupid as to fall for his prank, while also claiming that it would be too cruel to let her mourn the loss of his handsome face.

Although, she really wished he would. Anything would be better than this, even an entire life of humiliation.

So, she started walking.

She had taken four steps, when Blair said something, but it was in French and not directed at Serena. Finally, English words broke through, and Serena thought to pay attention to Blair's voice, although it was hard to concentrate when the corners of the world were crumbling at her feet.

"Okay, I'll be there soon."

Serena hung up without answering, and prepared herself for her next call.

* * *

Blair was _not_ happy with Serena. She was so lucky to have gotten a second chance with Louis - _Prince_ Louis! - and knew that there wouldn't be a third one lined up, in case anything else went wrong. Everything had to be perfect. So, leave it to her supposedly "best friend" to mess things up. Although, to Serena's credit, she did sound serious, and with only a few words, she managed to scare Blair. Especially because Serena's voice was cracking, almost as if she was crying, or trying not to. It really was serious.

Luckily, when Louis heard of the unfortunate interruption, and why it had occurred, he had - like a true gentleman (_sigh!_) - not been mad, but rather encouraged her to find Serena. So that was what she was going to do.

Serena was not in the apartment, when Blair got there. She spent an embarrassing amount of time on pacing the floor, but then decided that it was stupid, and sat down on one of the chairs, hands clasped in her lap.

Before she could lose her mind, wondering where the hell Serena was, and what the bad news were, said blonde stepped through the door, and Blair felt her heart skip a beat - and _not_ in the cute, romantic, i'm-so-in-love-with-you way. In the i'm-officially-terrified way.

Blair's best friend looked like hell. Her clothes and hair was still as great as earlier today, but she was carrying her heels in one hand, and her makeup was completely ruined by round, fat tears that still rolled down her cheeks. Before Blair knew what she was doing, she had got up from the chair, rushed to Serena and put her arms around her. This seemed to only break the blonde further, and even though Serena tried to speak, the words wouldn't come out of her mouth.

"Sweetie," Blair whispered in the softest voice she owned, "what's wrong?"

She wished the question would never be answered, because she honestly didn't want to know what had caused this kind of distress. She just wanted it to be fixed, so that Serena would be annoyingly happy again.

For a moment, only sobs managed to tear their way through Serena's throat and out between her lips. But then she spoke, and Blair felt her blood turn to ice.

"It's Chuck."

She wanted to punch him - _hard_ - for making Serena cry like this. That... that... _Basshole_. He should know better than to go after her friends. Yes, he would pay.

"He's," a Basshole, a Basstard, a motherchucker - and someone, who would _never_ lay a finger on Blair's best friend ever again, "dead."

Blair's thoughts stood still, as frozen as her body was. That couldn't be right. She had heard wrong, right? Chuck Bass could _not_ be dead. It was absurd.

"W-what?" she barely managed, and swallowed. This had to be some sort of mistake. Serena didn't know what she was saying... Had she been drinking?

"Chuck's dead," Serena whispered into her ear, and seemed to regain _some_ of her coherency. "I'm so sorry, B, I'm so sorry."

A nightmare, this was a nightmare. All Blair had to do was to wake up. Pinch herself, or remove all of her clothes. And then she would open her eyes to look over Paris - or even Manhattan - knowing that Chuck Bass was still breathing and very much _alive_.

Because this was all just a horrible nightmare.

It _had_ to be.

It became too real when Serena continued, "His body," Blair tried to convince herself that Serena's voice didn't break at that word, tried to pretend that it was just a prank they were pulling on her, "washed up in Paris. I went to go see him and identify the- _him_. I'm so sorry."

That was when her whole world fell apart.

* * *

**A/N (part two):** So, did you like it? Please, if you did, follow/favorite/review. It would mean the world, and I would definitely consider continuing this story!

Until next time, dear readers. You know you love me. xoxo, Signe O.


	2. Chapter I: Strong

**A/N:** Here it is; chapter one! Thank you for your reviews and kind words. I hope you will enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it! It's getting a little dark, but this is almost as dark as it gets, I promise. (For a while, at least).

**Warning:** This deals with bulimia (the eating disorder). Given Blair's history, I hope it doesn't come as a big surprise, or will turn you off from reading the story.

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, sure, and I'm Gossip Girl herself. (Note the sarcasm).

* * *

His body hurt all over, although there was a concentration of pain in his torso. The only thing that didn't feel like it had been smashed directly into a trunk, was his head, thank god, and his legs and arms weren't that bad, either. Soft covers kept him warm, and beneath him was a comfortable mattress, although it was not exactly hotel-standard… So where was he?

Cracking an eye open, he took in the scene. He was lying in a fairly big room, surrounded by other people, who were lying in similar-looking beds. Around them moved men and women dressed in white, all seemingly very busy. Faint, but steady, beeps could be heard from the other end of the room, and a louder one by his ear. The hospital.

Swallowing - which he instantly regretted; his throat was as dry and hurting - he tried to remember what he had done to end up in this place. Or what had been done _to_ him, rather. But his memory was blank, and even as he dug deeper and farther, he could remember no more than this hospital. Panic set in, as he tried to remember at least his _name._ He heard the monitor's beeps pick up in speed - just as his heart did - and his eyes flickered across the room, hoping to somehow read his name in somebody's mind.

That was when his eyes fell on a book, which was lying on a table to his left (although, it was not his own); _Henry IV_ by William Shakespeare. _Henry_. He blinked. The name was familiar - too familiar to be a coincidence, and he tested the name on broken lips and with cracking voice, "Henry." It sounded perfect. That was it. He was Henry. But Henry what? He ran a tongue over his lips, absentmindedly trying to make them look less _dead_. King? No… but close. "Prince," he tried. _Yes._

Relief flooded through him like a wave, and he let out a big breath, finally relaxing against this pillow. While everything else might be blank, he could cling to the name. That, and the fact that he was obviously speaking English, while most in this room where talking some foreign language, which sounded sort of like German, and yet not. A long way from home, he concluded.

His hand moved before he realized his brain had given the order. The wave was enough to attract the attention of one of the nurses, who rushed to his side, and started talking to him in that odd language of theirs. Henry stared for a second, and then kindly explained that he - unfortunately - didn't speak her language. The nurse immediately switched to her best English, although Henry had to admit that she didn't know a lot. At least, he got the truth out of her; why he was here.

He had been shot in the chest, and left to die in the street. Luckily, some girl had called their version of 911 - whatever that could be - and he had been brought to the hospital just in time. He had lost a lot of blood, though, so it had taken him quite a while to wake up properly. Although, according to the nurse, the two of them had had small, broken conversations before. Henry couldn't remember having said a word to her before now, but there was a lot he couldn't remember, after all.

* * *

Black surrounded her, squeezed and smothered, and tightened its grip until she felt like fainting. The only thing that shone through the darkness was a neatly-bound bouquet of white flowers, but Blair didn't want to look at the light, because that meant looking at what was right under it; a long, wooden box.

Her limbs felt weak as she walked. Even her head felt like it was about to drop off her shoulders. It didn't help to hear the rest of them mourn beside her. The priest's speech was still stuck in her head, though, so she tried to block out their words by listening to his. _Every man must face death, because in death, every man is equal - even great men like Charles Bass._ There was some truth to his words, although Blair did feel like punching him; Chuck Bass was not a great man - he was the very best... _had been_ the very best. Blair cringed at her own thoughts, and ignored the sideways look her mother sent her.

The walk was long, and her steps only felt heavier by the second. All she wanted was to sit down, curl up in the late-summer grass, and pretend this wasn't happening. But she couldn't do that; it was not how a lady should act.

At home, the darkness was as all-consuming as it had been in the church. Her mother and Cyrus were changing for the gathering at Lily's, and Blair walked the last, long mile to her bedroom, where she finally pulled off her shoes. With the last remaining energy in her weary bones, she walked to the bed, and collapsed right on top of it. The silk against her cheek felt like home.

The tears rolled before she knew it, and violent sobs quickly followed suit. She clammed one hand on top her mouth, hoping to mask the sound enough for her mother not to come running - or worse; Dorota. It wasn't working very well, though, and she quickly dropped her hand. Her fingers on the other one had already started digging through the soft material beneath her, and now five more joined them. She wasn't sure why she was clutching her bed like she would be killed if she let go. All she knew was that the slight pain of fabric digging into her palms was a nice almost-distraction. It was enough for her thoughts to slow down for exactly 0,78 seconds, before she remembered his face, and the way the world seemed to light up when he smiled broadly - and not smirking like it was his trademark to do.

What she wouldn't give to see him smile again - hell, she would settle for a smirk that usually only meant trouble. At least it would be trouble with him.

The knock on her door startled her, and Blair closed her eyes in fear of being face to face with her mother in this state. But the door didn't open, and the voice questioned her from outside, "Blair? Darling? Cyrus and I are going to Lily's. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Going to some fancy party to talk about Chuck in lowered voices was not exactly what she wanted right now. Especially because she knew that a lot of people would be there simply to keep up an image, and not because they actually knew or liked Chuck. It would be too much to be faced with the people, who hated him, and defend him while knowing that it would do no good; he was still cold in the ground, no matter what.

Blair swallowed, and hoped to God that her voice wouldn't give away the grief that was swallowing her whole. "Yes, I'm sure!" she called out, silently cursing herself for letting her voice break a little. It was as if the more she told herself _not_ to cry, the more she did.

It was easy to tell that Eleanor hesitated for a few seconds; her shadow didn't move, only wavered a bit, as if she was leaning away from the door one second, and towards it the next. But she didn't say anything, until the silence was getting ridiculous. Then she asked, "Do you want me to stay with you?"

In one way, that was exactly what Blair dreamed of; to let her mother into her room, and be embraced by loving arms. Her mother would hold her and whisper soothing words into her ear while Blair cried her eyes out, and then everything would be okay. She would wipe her cheeks, in the end, and they would smile sadly at each other. Blair wouldn't be weak, like she was now; she would have someone to hold her together and support her.

But at the same time, she hated to become dependent of her mother - and even more to look weak in front of the woman, who had always expected the best from her. Through her entire life, Blair had been raised to be a strong woman, and it was exactly what she aspired to be. Being weak was not an option as a Waldorf woman. So she would keep this weakness behind closed doors.

Again, she hoped that her voice would not betray her, as she answered her mother, "No. You can go. Cyrus-" she felt a lump in her throat at the mention of his name, although she was not sure why, and quickly swallowed, "Cyrus is waiting. I'll be fine."

_Fine._ That was the one thing she was most definitely _not_. But a white lie had never hurt anyone.

For a moment, it seemed like Eleanor was going to argue, but when she spoke, her tone made it clear that she had given up, and didn't have the energy, nor the heart, to discuss it further. "If you're sure... Okay, but we'll be back soon."

Blair didn't answer, only listened to her mother's footsteps as she walked away, and could vaguely hear her address either Dorota or Cyrus, although she suspected it was the latter. Dorota had Blair already personally banished from her room. It was not that the housekeeper was being unpleasant - quite the contrary; she was acting more like a concerned mother than Blair's own, and with her kid on her arm, she was impossible to talk to without bursting into tears.

With the threat of her mother gone, Blair let out a breath she hadn't been aware she had been holding. Not long after, she realized that she was now alone - well, as alone as she could be with Dorota still being somewhere in the penthouse. She tried to convince herself that it was for the best, and that she needed some time alone, but the truth was that she needed someone or something to distract her from her thoughts. Because they were dangerous and pulled her even deeper into the darkness.

Once upon a time, she had accused Chuck of being the one, who made her darker, but it was really his absence that did the trick.

It had been a closed casket funeral. Blair was glad. It was one thing seeing his face after he had died - she had done so plenty in her dreams - but it was a completely other thing to see him in such a broken state. Serena had told her about how damaged his body had been when it was pulled from the water, and that was not how she wanted to remember Chuck.

She wanted to remember him as - not her first - but her greatest love. The one, who showed her how a limo was supposed to be used, and told her he loved her after years of fighting. The one, who, at first, was disgusted by the butterflies in his stomach, and cheated at the prom so she would be queen for a night. The coward and hero, wrapped into one. Although, some might argue and call him a dark prince, rather than a white knight.

Blair didn't care what he was - _had been_ - because either way, she was his queen, and that was all that mattered.

But as the happy memories came flooding back, so did the bad, and she found her head swimming with flashes of Chuck with other women. No matter how much she had pretended that it didn't bother her, it had always made her somewhat disgusted. In the beginning, it had only been a little nauseating, and a blow to her ego. Later, she felt pangs of hurt, threatening to make a crack in her heart. And when she had finally found out about him and little Jenny Humphrey, her heart was broken beyond repair, and she swore that she wouldn't take him back in a million years.

The memory made her feel sick, even now.

And then there was his endless supply of insults, when he had felt especially cruel. She still remembered his comparison of her and his father's Arabian. He could even make _wife_ sound awful.

His temper. His ruthlessness, when it came to claiming what he wanted. His inability to let her properly in, no matter how hard she tried.

It all came back, now when it was supposed to stay_ far away_.

Blair felt sick. Partly because of him, but mostly because of herself.

Without even thinking, she sat up in her bed. The blood rushed from her head and made her dizzy for a second, but when that passed, she swung her legs to one side of the bed, and landed on the floor. Under her, her feet were uncertain, and it felt like her heels were drowning in the floor, after wearing her high-heeled shoes for so long.

Her steps were far from noisy as she walked from her bed to the bathroom. Behind her, she closed the door, and she turned the water on for safety's sake. It would make just enough noise, she decided. This time, no one would notice.

The bathroom tiles were warm against her knees. It was a good thing that the heat was on, because Blair was sure that she would think more about this, if she felt the cold stones against her skin. But there was only warmth, and she calmly pushed the lid and seat out of the way, ignoring the part of her that wanted to rush to the sink and wash her hands. She could do that after.

She was not sure if it was because of her disgust with Chuck's bad behavior, when he had been alive, or if she was disgusted with herself for even thinking badly of him - or if she was even trying to punish herself for it. She didn't even know if it was because everything was crashing down around her, and this gave a feeling of some sort of control. Either way, she gathered her hair carefully in her left hand, and looked down in the toilet for a second. Her hands were shaking. If she was being honest, her entire body shook. The tears didn't stream down her cheeks anymore. They hadn't come since she had stumbled out of bed. She was too determined for that. Her eyes felt dry, too, as if she had cried all of her tears out.

Three fingers were all she needed.

When she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her right hand, and let go of her hair with the other. She stumbled to the sink, and used an almost unhealthy amount of soap. The toilet flushed all by itself, and Blair grabbed a toothbrush. The mint was a nice change in smell. Finally, she closed for the water, and let out a deep breath.

She observed herself in the mirror.

Deep, brown eyes that were once sparkling with life, but were now as dull as the worst knife in the drawer. Her hair looked disgusting, even though she had showered every morning, no exceptions. The rest of her body was too fat, as always. She could definitely lose a few pounds.

Chuck had told her she was beautiful, once. But he wasn't here anymore, so who was going to think so, now?

There was a pale shine to her skin, which had otherwise darkened somewhat under the French sun. Makeup were hiding the bags under her eyes, thank god, but there was no way of covering up the redness in them. Her cheeks even seemed swollen and a little too pink. A desperate kind of pink.

"Blair!"

The sound of her own name practically echoing from the walls made Blair jump, and her heart skipped a beat.

The voice was male, and very familiar. What was he doing here? He should be at Lily's. And how did he even know where she was? Blair held her breath. If only she waited for a few moments, he would realize that no one was home, and he would leave. She really wanted him to leave.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted the seconds. One, two, three...

"Blair, I know you're up there! Please, I just want to talk to you." She could almost reach out and _feel_ the desperation in his voice. He needed her, so she needed to be strong now. She wasn't the only one, who had lost Chuck; so had his friends - however few there were - and this was his best one. Or had been, once upon a time, Blair was not really sure anymore. Either way, he still cared.

The stairs felt like the side of a steep mountain, rather than the simple steps she usually used, and her gaze wanted to bore itself into the wood. But she forced herself to look down at Nate, who was looking even worse than herself. It was obvious that he had been drinking, with the way he was leaning slightly against the wall, and with the way his clothes was rumpled all the wrong places. All black, like her. Except, he was wearing much more fabric than her.

Blair had showed up at the funeral, wearing a skimpy, black dress. It was one that was meant for outrageous clubs, not a ceremony. But she liked to think that whether Chuck was up in the clouds, or in the flames of Hell, he had been watching the funeral, and had taken notice of - and absolutely loved - her dress. With that in mind, she had ignored all negative looks that had been cast in her direction. Luckily, Lily had either not noticed her clothing, or hadn't minded. Blair's own mother and Cyrus had asked her about it at home, but both had shut up pretty quickly when Blair had mentioned that it would be what Chuck would have wanted. Blair's friends had given her a nod of acknowledgement, but had otherwise not commented on it, not even Dan, who had acted as a self-righteous moral compass before. Blair had thanked him for that by not insulting him the entire day.

"Blair," Nate breathed out the second she reached the floor, and she realized that he was worried. _He_ was worried about _her_? He was the one, who was already drunk off his ass.

Blair crossed her arms in front of her chest, subconsciously bracing herself for some sort of attack. That was all the world had done for her lately; it had attacked her with tragedy upon tragedy. And there was _nothing_ she could do about it, which was the most terrifying thing she could imagine.

Her tone lacked her usual bite, when she spoke, and she was terrified to realize that she couldn't do much more than whisper. "What do you want?"

She wanted to be alone - she _needed_ to be alone. But she didn't want him to leave, and let her be consumed with lonely thoughts again.

Nate frowned, as if her words were difficult to understand. What didn't he understand? She was still the same. She was still the bitch that no one could truly love - no one but the man, who was now buried in the cold, hard ground. "I was worried about you," Nate explained, and if Blair had been herself, she would have rolled her eyes, "because you weren't at Lily's."

"So that's a crime now? Not showing up to the after-party of my dead ex's funeral?" she snapped, not sure where her sudden aggressiveness came from. All she knew was that it felt good. She had been keeping her feelings behind locked doors for too long. "Yeah, something must be _terribly_ wrong with me."

The hurt look on his face nearly made her want to apologize, but she kept her tongue, and looked as realization dawned on his face. Sadness seemed to take over his features. Blair wondered what he had figured out, but didn't want to ask. Her answer came a few seconds later, "It's not a party, Blair. It's a gathering to honor Chuck's memory, and I was just wondering why you weren't there. But I think I can guess the answer."

Panic set in, so strong that Blair didn't even have the time to acknowledge the pang that had followed the verbal mention of Chuck's name. Had he heard her? Hadn't she brushed her teeth properly - could he smell it? It was a disgusting thought, but it was possible. Had Dorota heard and told him? Blair's eyes scanned the living room, but there was no Dorota in sight. That didn't mean she wasn't hiding somewhere. She was actually good at that.

It was hard to keep the paranoia out of her voice, when Blair cautiously asked, "What? What's the answer?"

Nate regarded her for a second, then he moved closer, as if he was about to tell her a deep secret. Intrigued, Blair followed his example. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, now. Scotch. She swallowed, and watched his lips as he talked, "The answer is that, because your personal vendetta against him, you don't want to show any him respect, not even today!"

Blair took a step back as if he had hit her. He might as well have; it wouldn't have hurt nearly as much as this did. How could he say that? _How could he say that!?_ He had _no_ right!

But instead of shutting up, like he should have, he continued in that evil voice of his, "The dress, Blair, really? Is that really how you see him? As a playboy and _pervert_?" He spat the words out, as if they were poison that would kill him if he kept them inside his mouth for too long, and Blair felt her heart jump oddly in her chest. Her throat tightened, and tears welled up in her eyes. Still, she stared at Nate stubbornly, with an almost dead expression on her face. The tears ruined the illusion of her supposed indifference a little. "And now you refuse to show your last piece of respect by not going to the gathering!" Blair wanted the accusations to go away, she _needed_ them to. This could not be how Nate saw her. He _had_ to know her true motivations - both with the dress, and the fact that she wasn't planning on showing up at Lily's.

Clearly, he didn't, and she was afraid of speaking up. Nate was not himself, so what would he do or say if she told him everything? If she told him that she couldn't sleep, and when she finally did, all she saw was Chuck, falling down from the building she had saved him on, a long time ago, would he understand? What if she shared the tale of how she got this dress, and how she had nearly let Chuck take her, then and there, in the dressing room? Would he get it, if she shared her fear of facing other people's hate towards her beloved?

Blair wasn't sure if she wanted to know. But one thing was certain; she was not going to be silent.

At least, he was not making a move to disappear into the elevator, and he was quiet now, giving her room to explain. Despite his aggressive and petty behavior, Nate was a good person, deep down. Not even extensive amounts of scotch, the grief of losing his best friend, or the belief that his ex was only happy to see said best friend go, could change that. Blair had to admire him for that.

"He is so much more than that," she began, not even noticing her misuse of present tense, "and I'm not trying to disrespect him. The dress… it's a gift for him, and a joke." She swallowed, and ran her fingers over the hemline. "I love him, always. But I just… _can't_ go."

In front of her, Nate was quiet for a few seconds. Blair kept her eyes on the dress, but, in the end, dared to look up at him. He looked absolutely broken. And sorry, which was the most important thing. _He believed her_. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled, sounding both embarrassed and guilt-ridden, however he didn't look away from her eyes. "I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry."

Blair shook her head, an almost-smile on her lips. "I would've been more brutal, if _I'd_ thought _you'd_ thought of him in that way," she admitted, and noted that the corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards at that. He even gave her a small nod. "You're a good friend," she added with a whisper, and liked the way he stared at her. She had missed those blue eyes of his. She had missed the comfort they had always brought her. Her eyes automatically flickered to his lips, and she realized just how close they were standing. Somehow, she had moved closer while talking. Or he had, she was not sure. Either way, she enjoyed this; the comfort that he practically radiated. Blair really needed that. She needed a friend.

Without thinking her actions through, she rose to her tiptoes, and leaned into his warmth. A single second charged with electricity and grief passed, and then she felt his lips against hers. Wasting no time, Blair parted her lips to his tongue, and let out a sigh. He tasted like the scotch on his breath, and a second thing that was just Nate. She absentmindedly applauded herself for brushing her teeth thoroughly, but all thoughts were stopped when he laced his fingers into her hair. _Only my boyfriend gets to touch my hair._ She had spoken the words ages ago, but they were still true, and Nate was not her boyfriend.

Sensing that something was wrong, apparently, he pulled away from her, and Blair avoided his eyes. The silence was deafening. All Blair wanted to do was to throw him into the elevator and get him away from her. She felt absolutely disgusted with herself. Chuck was barely cold in his grave. A lump was forming in her throat, and the tears were returning.

"We're all at Lily's," Nate began, when the silence became too much, and it was obvious that Blair wasn't going to say anything. "Serena, Eric, Dan, Jenny, Lily, Rufus, my mom, your mom, Cyrus…" He trailed off. "If you need someone to talk to, come." His palm was warm against her cheek when he reached out to touch it softly. Despite everything, Blair leaned into the touch. It was as comforting as his blue eyes, but not nearly as unsettling as his kiss. "I'm going to go over there now."

The warmth on her cheek disappeared, and he walked to the elevator. Blair watched him enter it, when the doors finally slid open. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but she shook her head. Not today. She would face the rest of the world another day. Nate understood, she knew. He pressed a button, and then the doors slid closed.

Blair was left with her thoughts again, this time with guilt burning in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

**A/N:** Next time, there will be a little more Chuck, but I've decided to focus mainly on Blair... So, what did you think of this chapter? Leave me a review, perhaps, or follow/favorite if you haven't already? (: You know you love me. xoxo, Signe O.


End file.
